


Steve Rogers Swears During Sex

by SarahJaneS



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 09:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5086417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahJaneS/pseuds/SarahJaneS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers always had a thing for Natasha, but he never said as much. Not when Clint was around. But when a bad day brought him to throwing his energy into the gym, Natasha decided to come to him instead.</p><p> </p><p>You can also read this at a podfic!! If you want to hear me reading (and moaning) please click below!</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="http://sjcosplay.podomatic.com/entry/2015-10-27T02_27_20-07_00"> STEVE ROGERS SWEARS DURING SEX PODFIC </a><br/>  <a></a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve Rogers Swears During Sex

Steve Rogers was far from stupid. He knew what the other guys said about him. That he was old fashioned; that he would never make the first move no matter how opportunistic the chance. Sometimes, they even joked about him being light in the loafers. Tony especially, the germ. If that greaser flapped his trap one more time about how he needed to get Steve a nice boy to settle down with, Steve was going to pop him one. 

  
He wasn’t gay. Not by any means. It was just that when a dame was around, Steve remembered how things used to be; back before the serum and the change in his body. He had a hard time getting his tongue to go untied. 

  
Nat was no real exception. It has been months since they first started working together and still Steve had a hard time talking to her without feeling his nerves creep along his back to stall against his neck. It didn't stop him from seeking her company though. 

  
It wasn’t that he was on the hook; he cared for Natasha sure, but she had this predatory look in her eyes when she glanced his way, that always made him feel a bit unsettled as well. Besides, she was Clint’s girl, wasn’t she? Not that she ever really talked about it, but Steve suspected as much. Things were different now than they were sixty years ago. Girls didn’t get jacketed or hold class rings. Hell, Steve imagined such things would be kind of ridiculous anyway considering their professions, but it would be a lot easier for him to know where exactly he stood with Natasha Romanoff. She was Clint’s girl sure, but sometimes she looked at him with something secret tucked behind those hazel green eyes. 

  
It was on a particular day of no real circumstance when the soup really hit the fan for Steve. Tony was in a sour mood and was taking it out on everyone around him. He kept touching fingers to holographic images on the Helicarrier deck, and muttering under his breath until Steve felt like he was going to go ape. He got to his feet, setting down the magazine he was trying to decipher, and made his way towards the back of the flight deck; thinking he would find better company in the solitude of his room. 

  
“Don’t get lost out there,” Tony called after him like was some sort of spaz, and it was just enough to set him over the edge. 

  
“Why do you have to always be such a jerk to me, Stark,” he snapped from the doorway and as soon as Tony rolled his eyes, he knew he made a mistake. Tony was far smarter than Steve and he knew it. Steve knew it too, which frustrated him endlessly. Between Bruce and Tony he was sick to death of feeling like he wasn’t playing with a full deck of cards. 

  
“Run along, Rogers. Let the big boys strategize without you,” Tony called dismissively and Steve felt he had nothing left to do but stalk out of the room defeated. 

  
When things got bad like this between them, he often turned to Nat for comfort. At least she didn’t treat him like the new kid on the block, or the square, or the odd ball. She actually listened to him like she cared. And hell, maybe she did. 

  
He was able to find her room easy enough. It was on the way back to his own quarters so Steve often walked passed there. Many times, he found himself lingering; listening at the door; wondering if she was inside. This time was no exception and as he approached that familiar door, he lifted his hand and paused before knocking on it. Tilting his head, he listened for voices inside. Silence was all that received him. 

  
Thinking she might be training, or otherwise not in her room, Steve felt a bit more daring and brought knuckles firmly against the metal door. He waited, glancing down the hall for any sign of her returning, and just when he decided that perhaps this was a wasted effort, a shift in the frame signaled the door was opening. 

  
Steve turned just as Natasha appeared on the other side of the doorframe, and an easy smile spread over his face. 

  
“Good to see you, Nat. I have had one whopper of a day,” Steve sighed.  
Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, looked uncharacteristically nervous. Perhaps nervous was too strong a word, but the way her eyes shifted to the left and the way her teeth caught at the plump swell of her lower lip, was certainly not something he had seen in her before. Or perhaps the whole thing was just an act. He never could really tell with her. 

  
“Steve…now is not a good time,” she said, her voice soft and honey sweet. Steve glanced down, taking in the silky satin of her crimson robe, and the bare legs and feet that extended past its mid-thigh length. She looked to have just gotten out of bed seeing how her auburn hair was tousled in a very appealing way. He also noted how much he towered over her when she was not in her heeled boots. 

  
Suddenly registering her words, Steve’s eyes snapped up to meet hers and he took a step away. 

  
“Right…sorry I bothered you,” he said with a nod and felt more awkward than he supposed he sounded. But just as he turned to make his way down the length of the hall to his quarters, a hint of movement caught the corner of his eye and he looked back. There, standing in the shadows of the room beyond where Natasha still examined him, stood Clint. He could barely be seen, but Steve Rogers wasn’t Captain America by simple chance. His training taught him to size up any ally the way he would his opponents and the set of those shoulders on the silhouette of the form in Natasha’s bedroom doorway made it clear to him that he was facing Hawkeye. 

  
“Oh.” 

  
It was all Steve could think to say. What else could be said? The score was all played out right in front of him and all that was left to hear was the cymbal crash in the grand finale. Well Steve wasn’t going to stick around to hear it all tumble down around him. Nat made her choices. He already knew she would. 

  
“I’m going to cut out…I mean…I’m going to leave,” he said, taking another step away, and Natasha glanced down to the distance between them. She seemed flustered, and a bit annoyed, but he was tired of trying to read the millions of layers Natasha hid under. Without another word, Steve fled down the hall. 

  
He didn’t run. He wouldn’t run from an enemy and he sure as hell wasn’t going to run from that dame, but his pace was steady enough to vanish from the space in front of Natasha’s room quicker than a drag. 

  
When he reached his quarters, Steve burst through the door barely in acknowledgement to the security coding, and pulled at the thin armor plated jacket of his American uniform. He stripped down quickly, too hurt and angry to make much sense of his actions, but when he reached for the comfort of his running shorts as well as a white cotton t-shirt, it occurred to him that he already made the decision to find refuge in the gym. Socks and sneakers to follow, and he was out the door in ten minutes flat. 

  
Not many of them used the gym that was provided in the Helicarrier. Tony had his machines, and Bruce had his chemicals. Thor was a god for Christ’s sake, and Clint preferred to do tactical training in the war room in lieu of the mundane of a treadmill. As for Natasha… well Steve didn’t want to think about her right now. He preferred to have the gym room to himself, and this day was no exception. He needed to cool it, and nothing helped him settle down better than three strong miles full tort on a treadmill. This was a piece of technology he could definitely get his head around. 

  
Steve fished his earbuds out of his shorts pocket, slipped them into his ear, and fell back into the good old days of the Rat Pack. Sammy Davis Jr. was always his favorite, although he would have been beat up to say as much in another place and time. 

  
The bugle of horns signaled the opening melody of “I Got You Under My Skin”, and Steve closed his eyes to lose himself in the jive. 

  
He didn’t know how much time had passed. Minutes or hours; it meant nothing when he was on the windowless inner workings of the Helicarrier. If anyone needed him they would find him sure enough; what with Tony’s heat sensors and other high tech devices. 

Even when he was a runt; even when the least of those good old boys in green towered over him, Steve always preferred the feel of working with his hands. He liked texture against his skin; the direct connection of body and mind to task at hand. No pansy computer could satisfy so much. 

“Come Fly With Me” was wrapping up when Steve called it quits. He slowed, walking down his racing heart, then hopped off the edge; slapping the stop button as he went. 

He had worked up a good sweat and felt a bit more accomplished for the effort. Grabbing a towel off of a corner table in the room, he made his way into the men's locker to rinse off the aftermath of his day. 

He couldn't imagine why the shower never ran cold. Probably more of that fancy Stark technology that SHEILD knocked into the corner pocket, but he wasn't about to complain. He decided not to reemerge from the closed shower stall until he resembled a pune. 

Losing himself in the spray, he didn't at first hear the brush of feet on tile and let out a curse for not keeping his reflexes sharp. Secretly, he knew better than to be so hard on himself. After all, Natasha was code named after a spider for a reason. 

Steve glanced at her over his shoulder as she slipped into the narrow hallway of the shower area, and was grateful that the half door of the shower stall allowed him some vanity. 

“This is the men's locker room, Natasha. Not really a place for dames like you,” he said coldly and was surprised to see the slight wince from Natasha at the sound of her full name. 

“I was hoping we could talk,” she said carefully, the heart shape of her lips pulled into a frown. Steve gave her the once over, noting she still wore the robe as a harsh reminder of how he came upon her earlier that day, and he turned away in dismissal. He tried to hide the hurt from his voice. 

“Get bent, Black Widow. Anything you have to say can wait until I'm clothed again.” 

  
“Actually, Steve, no it can't,” Natasha said and before Steve could react, she was pulling open the shower door and stepping inside. Steve whirled on her, pressing his back against the cool tile of the shower wall, and his hands reflexively went to cover his crotch. 

“Nat! What the hell are you-” 

“Nothing happened with Clint and I. Do you want to know why?” Natasha’s eyes were bright; glowing and wide to display a patina of earthy hues. She stepped forward, never breaking her stare, until the hot spray from the shower-head painted her robe onto her skin. Steve tried to look away, wanting to respect her vanity, but she reached for him and closed her small hands over the hard set of his jawline. Steve shook his head slightly, focusing away from her body as he held onto the remembrance of Hawkeye in his mind. 

“Don't tell me nothing happened. I saw Clint in your bedroom doorway. I'm pretty hip to what that means.” Steve couldn't help the slight tremor in his voice. Natasha was right there, inches away, and that flimsy robe of hers was so wet, it left less to his imagination than her usual uniform did. 

Steve swallowed and was surprised to hear the light melody of Natasha’s laugh. Her smile warmed her face, and she peered up at him, with her hair wet and hanging limp against her eyes. 

“Oh trust me, he tried to get something to happen. We had a thing once, and Clint has carried a torch for far too long. But…I turned him down. Don't you see? Are you blind to how I look at you? I care for Clint, really I do...but he's not you, Steve.” Her hands slid away from Steve’s face and trailed fingertips along the broad width of his shoulders. “He'll never be you.” 

Natasha closed the distance and pressed her chest against his; only a thin scrap of cloth lay as a barrier between them. Steve could feel the firm swell of her breasts pressing against his body, and he glanced down; half distracted, to admire the way they pooled within the dipping V of her robe. He swallowed again. 

“Natasha… what are you doing?” Steve whispered, but Natasha didn't bother with a response. Instead she lifted her body onto her toes, slid her hand to cup the base of Steve’s neck, and pulled his lips against her own. 

They were softer than Steve imagined them to be, and while he wanted to believe she reserved such tenderness for him alone, he had to wonder how much of it was real and how much was a con. He wondered how many other men she has kissed with such vulnerability before slipping a blade of into their heart. 

Natasha pulled away, their lips smacking wetly from the water trailing their faces, and then she smiled at him again; a sheepish laugh leaving her lips with her exhalation. Steve couldn't help but imagine her as just a woman instead of a lethal trained assassin. A woman he has desired for a very long time. 

Suddenly his vanity seemed of little consequence. Steve lifted his hands away from his body, leaving himself exposed, and smoothed gentle fingers against Natasha’s wet hair. They both relented to the same burning need when their lips met once more. 

Natasha tasted as sweet as she sounded. Honey and mint that coalesced against Steve’s tongue and shot sparks through his mind. She hummed against him; opening her lips, and flicking her tongue playfully at his own. He had never kissed like this before. Mouths open; exploring, reaching, discovering; then melting against each other in a unity of desire Steve had no idea either of them possessed. 

His length grew; surprisingly ready in such a short time, and when Natasha reached for him; tracing fingertips against the sensitive underside, Steve gasped against her mouth and pulled away. 

“What are we doing?” he said in defense of reality; his voice suddenly lower than he had ever heard it before. Natasha’s smile went from sweet to playful and she pulled at her robe; discarding it into the thin puddle at their feet. 

Steve could not help but look at her. Naked and pink from the heat of the shower. She looked sultry. She looked seductive, and he wanted to take every bit of her. He wanted to drink her down to quench a thirst that he had dared not acknowledge since the moment his eyes first drew her in. 

“Nat…” he began, unsure of what words would follow, but Natasha simply reached for Steve’s hand; lifting it, and cupped it softly against her left breast. Steve stared at her, eyes wide blue; centered in green, and then slowly took in the sight of his hand against the gentle curve on the underside of her breast. His other hand followed of its own accord and Steve’s fingers pulled them more securely into his palm. He admired the pale rosy hue of her nipples. His thumbs traced curiously against the hardening nubs, and he lifted his eyes when Natasha shivered. She stared at him, her eyes like saucers, and she nodded encouragingly. Her face however remained a neutral mask. 

“Nat if you want this… if you want me to do this… can you please let down the facade? I want you as you really are. I want the woman and not the spy.” 

Natasha’s eyes hardened a little but she quickly looked away. She pressed her lips together, appearing annoyed, but the hard shift of her hip against Steve’s erection made it clear to him that she was still very much in the game. 

“I really don't know who I am, Steve. I lost the answer to that years ago. But I'll do my best.” 

Alright then, Steve accepted that. He knew the score about Natasha long ago so who was he to insist she be anything but who she was, even if that meant she was nothing at all. While he was lost in a maze of ice, fated to awaken a lifetime later, Nat had spent her youth having any scrap of weakness she ever thought she harbored pounded out of her on a daily basis until nothing was left. The very notion that she was willing to show this much to him without advantage or gain was profound. He also had to admit that what she was doing with her hips was pretty amazing as well. 

Steve reached around, cupping fingers against the supple swell of Nat’s rear, and jerked her against him once more as his other hand kneaded, pinched, and teased at her breast. 

The act made Natasha suddenly moan deep in the back of her throat and Steve couldn't help but smile. While the taste of her kisses became lost to the wet heat and steam, Steve couldn't get enough of the feel of her mouth against his. He adapted quickly, dancing his tongue between her teeth and gliding it over her own. She pressed harder against him; pinning his hand between them, as she worked her whole body along his. 

When their lips parted, Steve was surprised to see how flushed and turned-on Nat had become. 

“Please Steven,” she groaned; her eyes closed and brow furrowed as she lost herself to the feel of him. “Please.” 

Steve Rogers prided himself to believe he was a gentleman, but this was about all he could take. He gave in to the spell. 

Steve released Natasha, digging fingers into the soft curve of her shoulders and thought briefly on how small she felt in his arms, before he twisted and pushed her against the slick tile of the stall. Natasha grunted, the wind escaping her, but recovered an instant later as she reached out for him. 

She lifted her leg, hooking it against Steve’s hip, as her hands trembled in their efforts to guide him inside of her. Steve dipped, catching her other leg into his arm as he pulled her up off of the floor and balanced her between him and the wall. 

Natasha looked up at him, her lips parted and her eyes hooded from the haze of sex between them, and her breasts heaved as she drew shallow breath into her lungs. 

“Steve…” she groaned, “Stop making me wait!” 

Steve dipped his head, taking one firm nipple between his teeth as he shifted his weight and drove himself inside of Natasha with a forceful lunge that her body received in a way that almost wept gratitude. 

Nat threw back her head; rocking her shoulders forward to compensate, and cried out towards a ceiling coated in condensation. 

Steve rocked, driving himself deeper, and Natasha’s moans only lengthened from the effort. 

“This is just how… just how I imagined it would be,” she panted between gasping breaths, “god, Steven!” 

Her words, the amazing sounds leaking out of her mouth, it was all motivating Steve to carry on. He stepped back, allowing Natasha to balance her shoulders against the wall, then scooped her legs into his arms. She opened up to him then, body hot and needing with the slick heat of her arousal, and Steve drove into her with a slow steady rhythm that left her legs shaking. 

“Fuck! Natasha!” Steve growled out through his teeth and could hardly believe such a word fell out of his mouth. The reaction was instantaneous as Natasha groaned and rolled her hips into each one of Steve’s thrusts. 

“Oh, god! Do that again. Say it again,” she moaned, her breasts bobbing from the momentum of his exertion. Steve’s hesitation was brief; the reward out weighing his convictions. 

“So you like me _fucking_ you? You _fucking_ like the way I feel? _Oh,_ Natasha _..._ You feel so... fucking... good,” he groaned out and while he suddenly felt like a naval cadet, he couldn't help but smile at the way it tore Nat apart. 

She cried out, eyes squeezed tight as she lost herself to a moment of bliss, and raked trembling fingers down the length of Steve’s broad arms. 

“You're so horrible at that but it's still so hot!” 

She reached down, rubbing fingers at the place just above where Steve thrusted in and out of her, and he was mesmerized by the sight. He could feel his build up; the way his balls pulled tight against him, and he deepened the long pounding strokes of his length into Natasha’s body. He wanted this feeling to never end, but he knew it would soon, and if he could just get Natasha over the edge… 

Carefully, Steve slid Natasha’s legs onto his shoulders, repositioning his angle, then slipped a hand down to that lovely warm opening, and took over the efforts she was taking there. 

Within moments, Natasha’s behavior became alien to anything he has ever seen from her before. She screamed, her body arching impossibly in a way that only her training would allow, and a warm rush of wetness convulsed around Steve’s shaft as she shuddered through her orgasm. The experience of it, and the way she seemed to come so utterly undone, was enough to allow Steve that last rise before he fell into the brink as well. 

He came hard and fast, convulsing into her as his body grew unsteady only a few seconds later. He lowered her legs from his shoulders as he pulled out of her with a slight shiver. 

Natasha gasped, her eyes rolling, but then looked up at Steve as he brought her to stand against the tile once more. When their eyes met, she leaned in to kiss him, and with the haze of yearning gone, it left their kiss long and endearing. 

It made Steve feel as though Natasha was just a woman again. Vulnerable, and soft; yearning to be protected. To be saved. 

Natasha pulled away as though sensing his thoughts, and stared up into Steve’s eyes. He felt as though her eyes were like two small earth's orbiting within the expanse of his floundering solar system, and he wondered if he was falling in love with her right then and there. He wondered if Natasha felt the same way. Or if Nat was even capable of feeling love at all. He opened his mouth to beg the question but suddenly Natasha turned away from him. 

“Steve, I…” 

“Mister Rogers,” a voice boomed from overhead and Steve recognized JARVIS’s cocky tone, “Miss Romanov. Mister Stark would like to have me inform you that if you are done with your recreational activities, you are to meet him on the main deck. And do put some clothes on.” 

Natasha smiled up at Steve but he only growled low in return. 

“When I see Stark again,” he hummed as he kissed Nat and reached to stop the shower, “I'm pounding him into next week.” 

Natasha pulled Steve closer, placing a kiss upon his cheek, she leaned to whisper against his ear. “This time, I'll help you do it.” 

The End. 


End file.
